


Autumn Dreaming :: Blue Skies

by Nell65



Series: Autumn Dreams [7]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Universe, F/M, Recreational Drug Use, post season two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 02:07:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4769543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nell65/pseuds/Nell65
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy finally has a day off. If only Earth would cooperate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Autumn Dreaming :: Blue Skies

**Author's Note:**

> Still gonna be Jossed. Still having fun. Still don't care.

“Shit,” Bellamy started coughing again. “Ack. I don’t think I like smoking.”

“Good,” Lincoln said, reaching over to take the small bone pipe. “It’s terrible for your lungs.” He put the pipe to his lips and inhaled deeply.

“You’re a fucking hypocrite, you know that,” Bellamy said, collapsing back onto the blanket spread out on the high meadow. Yet another entrance to the mountain popped up here, for no reason he could make out. Bolt holes. They’d had them everywhere, the sad, desperate bastards. Too bad they couldn’t use a damn one of them.

“I’m a healer and a scholar,” Lincoln said. Then he giggled.

“And apparently a raging dope fiend.”

Lincoln raised his brow. “Dope fiend?” 

Bellamy shrugged. “I like Raymond Chandler.”

Lincoln looked down at Octavia, who was sitting between his knees, leaning back into him. He caught her eyes, made his ‘what’s-he-on-about-now?’ face, and jerked his thumb at Bellamy.

“Twentieth-century novelist. Writer. Classic noir detective stories,” Octavia answered his unspoken question. “Noir is, was … what the fuck is noir, Bell?”

“Noir – French for black, or sometimes dark – is a film style,” Bellamy said, “Hardboiled crime is genre fiction. When they filmed hardboiled crime writers like Chandler, the film style they tended to use was Noir. Hyper realism, cynical antiheroes, political and criminal corruption everywhere, and deeply repressed sex. Think _Chinatown_.”

“You sky people,” Echo said, holding out her hand and gesturing impatiently for Lincoln to pass the pipe along. “You talk about the strangest things.”

“Don’t you have stories? Plays? Poetry? Songs? Stuff to do on long winter nights,” Bellamy rolled over onto his elbows and looked up at Echo. “You know. In-between the other stuff,” he winked at her. She rewarded him with an exasperated huff. “Everyone has stories, right?” he added.

She drew her brows down in irritation. “Of course we do.”

“Tell us one,” he said. “Come on.” He pushed her hip lightly, encouraging, “Share something.”

Echo stiffened, her normally graceful sprawl suddenly rigid and angular. “I’m a warrior, not a priestess.”

“Okay. Not a sacred story, not if you don’t want too. Something easy.” Bellamy tried again, “Something funny. What’s a story your people tell to make the kiddies laugh?”

If anything she got stiffer. She raised her chin, the better to scowl down at him. “I am not a nursemaid either.”

“No shit,” Bellamy said, half under his breath, but before he could follow up that thought, Octavia interrupted. “We aren’t dope fiends. This is medicinal. Dr. Griffin said so. Quality Mountain Hashish. Helps with stress reactive disorders.”

Echo turned her head to include Octavia in her scowl. “I am no longer one of Dr. Griffin’s patients. I do not need her medicine.”

“It’s my pipe,” Lincoln said mildly. “Give it back if you don’t want it.”

“Healers,” Echo said, in voice that made her disdain plain. She handed back the pipe. Which was out, and nearly empty anyway. Lincoln offered it to Octavia, then leaned over and used his weird, complex lighter thingamabob for her.

“Shit,” Bellamy said again, flopping onto his back again and deciding to ignore Echo’s crankiness. He was enjoying his first day off in, well, like, he frowned, since landfall? Who cared why he was high, or who said it was okay? 

“Have we even had a day off since we hit dirt?” he asked of no one in particular.

“You haven’t,” Octavia said. “You wouldn’t have taken one today if Kane hadn’t insisted.”

“That’s why we brought the kaff,” Lincoln added. “Help you relax.”

Bellamy started to laugh, letting his arms drop wide now that the buzz from his last hit on the pipe was finally making it’s way to his brain. “I’m so relaxed I don’t think I can get up.”

“Good,” Echo appeared over him. Her eyes seemed especially dark and her long hair fell forward around them as she leaned in. “I like you this way.”

He reached up and caught his hand around her neck, pulling her in for a lingering, sloppy kiss. After that she wiggled down so her head was resting against his shoulder, her arm around his waist and she could wind one long, slim leg between his. He closed his eyes, thinking that taking a nap here in the sun on what might be one of the last warm days of autumn seemed like an excellent plan.

His doze was interrupted when he heard Octavia mutter, “What’s he want now?”

Bellamy decided to leave his eyes closed. Maybe if he didn’t look, whatever was coming would pass him by and let him be.

“Sorry to bother you today,” said Marcus Kane, “I know how much you need this rest.”

Bellamy cracked one eye. “What?”

His brain started to click. “More Ark survivors?” He struggled to sit up, dislodging Echo, whose sleepy glower took in him and Kane equally. They were still looking for the last of the Ark, still hoping. They’d brought in just over two hundred and twenty more survivors already, but there were two small sections they hadn’t located. Probably burned up on entry, but, you could hope. Or not. “Grounders?”

“No,” Kane was standing over them, staring down. He didn’t look panicked or excited. Just worried. “Stranger, and more troubling,” he said.

Bellamy simply waited, telling himself he was completely resigned to whatever improbable shit might come next.

“John Murphy radioed in an hour ago. He has interesting news.”

And just like that, an adrenaline hit surged through him and Bellamy rolled to his feet. 

“Fuck,” was all he could come up with to say.

Kane seemed to understand. “Indeed,” he said. He looked at the others. “Sorry to take Bellamy. I’ll return him as soon as I can. The rest of you, enjoy your afternoon.”


End file.
